Laundry Day
by BrioScotty
Summary: Prompted for cute, sexy Faberry at a laundromat trying not to get caught by the old lady who owns it. Birthday present for Dylan.


**SUMMARY:** Prompt: I would like Rachel and Quinn at a laundromat, being adorable, being sexy, and then trying to sex without getting caught by the old, old, old lady laundromat owner who randomly walks through the shop.  
><strong>NOTES:<strong>Late birthday fic for Dylan (who is also the prompt lady). Points for anyone who gets all the references to a well-known, New York-based sitcom. Thanks to Darch for the beta.

It is summer and it is hot.

From her position on the floor, Quinn can hear footsteps drawing nearer and cracks her left eye open to see the disgruntled face of her girlfriend staring down at her.

"My turn," she mumbles, prodding Quinn with her foot until the blonde moves out of the way of their only source of relief against the onslaught of the heavy, humid air. Rachel lies down on the floor and sighs contentedly.

"We have to go," Quinn reminds her, rolling onto her side. She props herself up on her elbow and reaches across to tickle a strip of exposed skin between the brunette's tanktop and shorts. Rachel shivers and makes a half-hearted attempt to push the blonde away.

"Five minutes," Rachel says decisively. "You've been hogging this thing for the last half hour."

"That's because I'm much hotter than you," Quinn chuckles, leaning over to place a kiss against Rachel's temple. The brunette sticks her tongue out and closes her eyes as the air conditioning starts to cool her down ever so slightly.

Quinn pushes herself off the floor and heads towards the bedroom to grab the almost overflowing bags of clothes. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaces, pushing the hair out of her eyes. While she's thankful that she and Rachel finally have a day off together, she is definitely missing the air-conditioned office she spends her working life in.

Their apartment had been bearable for the first week of the heatwave. They'd turned up the air conditioning and slept without blankets for the first time in months. But at the end of those glorious seven days, Quinn arrived home to find an almost tearful Rachel kneeling in front of the unit, an array of tools spread out around her. Since then, their beloved unit would only occasionally spout out cold air and even then, they would have to lie directly in front of it to get any sort of benefit.

Leaning against the doorframe now, Quinn watches her girlfriend attempt to cool down. Her eyes rake from the brunette's mussed up hair to her tanktop then down to her ridiculously short shorts. The blonde's gaze lingers where the shorts end and Rachel's legs stretch out from beneath the material.

"Stop staring," Rachel says, lifting her head and attempting to look menacing before her head drops back to the floor. "I think we should call Mrs Hosenstein again. I can't go on like this." She rubs the back of her hand across her damp forehead as Quinn rolls her eyes.

"I'll call her when we get back, drama queen," Quinn promises, pushing away from the doorframe to pad across the floor. She reaches down and pulls a protesting Rachel to her feet. "I'll buy you an ice cream if you behave," Quinn chuckles, pushing her grumbling girlfriend towards the hall.

"Unless you're planning on smearing it all over my body, I will pass," Rachel says, leaving Quinn hesitating near their bedroom door. "What?"

"Smearing," Quinn replies vacantly.

"Quinn, it is a million degrees in this apartment. I am hot and sticky. Unless the air conditioning magically decides to start working by the time we get back…" Rachel waves a hand in front of Quinn's face, breaking the blonde out of her trance. "It wouldn't the first time you've smeared food…"

"Stop," Quinn says, reaching for the bags of dirty laundry. She passes the lighter of the two bags to Rachel who drags her feet as she leaves the apartment. They pass by their elderly neighbour on the stairwell who offers them a toothy grin and a salutation in Belarusian. Both women smile in response and nod politely. They've tried to engage in conversation with Mrs Mackiewicz before but have since learned that, despite Rachel's overenthusiastic smiling and gesturing, the older woman's non-existent English makes it impossible to hold even the briefest exchange.

They pass by the laundry room on the ground floor, a large, red notice adorning the door informing the tenants of the building that the facilities are out of order and thus the reason that Quinn and Rachel are dragging their laundry down the street to a Laundromat.

At Rachel's request, they stay on the shaded side of the street, a pointless attempt to cool down. It's stifling outside and Quinn notices more than a few appreciative glances at her girlfriend's attire as they pass by the cafes that line the sidewalk.

"You could have changed," Quinn tells the brunette after shooting a glare at an older man who can barely contain his leer.

"The only reason we're doing the laundry today is because we've both run out of clothes. This is all I have left. And really, Quinn, I'm used to the attention."

"You are?" Quinn asks.

"You're not exactly the epitome of subtlety, Miss Fabray," Rachel smirks, hoisting the bag of laundry up as she tries to manoeuvre around a dog-walker and seven tiny, yappy dogs. Quinn watches, trying to contain her laughter as the dogs circle her girlfriend, leashes criss-crossing around her legs. "Quinn!" Rachel finally calls out in exasperation.

Chuckling, the blonde advances to help the shorter woman out of the tangled mess. The rest of their walk to the Laundromat passes without incident and, blissfully, a stream of cold air hits them as soon as they open the door. Quinn glances around, taking in the rows of washing machines and driers. She allows herself a tiny smile as the scent of clean clothes assails her senses.

"Oh my god," Rachel exclaims, tossing her bag of clothes to the floor. "I'm moving here. Quinn, we can pay them rent. I'll sleep on top of the driers."

Quinn sighs and begins to separate the clothes into different piles, waiting for Rachel to stop professing her love for the Laundromat.

"Good afternoon!" a friendly voice calls from behind them. Quinn whirls around, coming face to face with a woman who is quite possibly older than Mrs Mackiewicz. She shuffles towards them, leaning heavily on a cane.

"Hello!" Rachel replies, practically pirouetting around in the cool air.

"You must be new," the woman says with a smile. "I never forget a face. I'm Mrs Leonard."

"Nice to meet you," Quinn says warmly. "I'm Quinn and this is…"

"Rachel?" another voice interrupts and all three women turn to see a man emptying a washing machine in the far corner.

"Ned!" Rachel responds, rushing over to the man and throwing her arms around him.

"Sweet tea, darlin'?" the old woman asks Quinn who nods mutely in response as 'Ned' fusses over her girlfriend. Unfortunately, her girlfriend has entered some sort of warp speed language that she can't even begin to comprehend. It's only when Rachel is dragging Ned towards a sagging, grey couch near the door that she catches Quinn's eye.

"Quinn, this is Ned," she explains helpfully.

"So I gathered," Quinn replies, losing concentration long enough to place Rachel's favourite red bra into the pile of white clothes.

"Ned and I worked together in… Freshman year? On Freud! The Musical?" Ned nods. "That was an awful show." Ned makes a face and nods again. "This is my girlfriend, Quinn."

"Ah! Quinn! I definitely remember you talking about a Quinn," Ned shoots the blonde woman a dazzling smile. Quinn forces a smile in return and finishes sorting the clothes, tossing them into two washers. Mrs Leonard returns with a glass of sweet tea.

"Thank you," Quinn says, taking a sip. "Do you have any detergent?"

"Just over there, dear," the elderly woman gestures to an array of boxes piled haphazardly at the end of a row of driers. Quinn goes to select a box, not recognising any of the brands. She settles for the one on top and lifts it over to the machines she's using.

"Oh, look!" Ned cries, causing Quinn to whip around in consternation. Ned is gesturing to the box of detergent in her hands, a bright orange and green label adorning the front. "Rachem!"

"Yes," Quinn says quizzically, reading the label. "It's Bulgarian."

"Well, it's _like _Rachel," Ned says. Quinn has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"So it is," Rachel says, smiling sweetly at her former castmate before glancing over at Quinn. "Can you get me some of that sweet tea, baby?"

"Sure," Quinn replies. "Ned?"

"I have to go," he says apologetically and climbs off the couch. He finishes retrieving his clothes from the washer and heaves the bag onto his shoulder. "We could have coffee sometime?" he asks Rachel as he makes his way back to the door.

"Sure," Rachel says. "Do you still see Paul? He has my number."

"Great," Ned nods. "Well, I'll see you around then. Nice meeting you, Quinn."

Quinn waves half-heartedly in his direction as she returns with Rachel's sweet tea. The door chimes as he leaves and Quinn sinks down onto the couch next to Rachel, resting her head on the brunette's shoulder.

"Was that a hint of jealousy I detected?" Rachel asks, licking her lips after she's drained her glass of sweet tea. She places the glass on the floor and reaches for Quinn's arm, smirking when she realises that Quinn's gaze is fixed on her mouth. "Quinn?"

"Yes?" Quinn murmurs, leaning in towards the brunette.

"Didn't you hear my sweaty and gross speech earlier?" Rachel muses, as Quinn's fingertips trail a path from the brunette's knee to the hem of her shorts. The contact feels like fire to Rachel; heat radiating from the blonde, burning her now much cooler skin.

"Hot and sticky," Quinn corrects her, closing her eyes as Rachel's lips find hers. She slides her hand higher and pulls the brunette onto her lap. The brunette sighs overdramatically as she pulls out of the kiss.

"Here?" Rachel asks, playfully placing a soft kiss to Quinn's parted lips. Quinn can't stop (and doesn't particularly want to stop) the rush of heat that gathers between her legs as Rachel makes herself a little more comfortable in her lap.

Quinn's hand takes up residence on Rachel's knee again, slowly stroking upwards. The tiniest of whimpers escapes from the shorter woman's mouth when Quinn's hand travels up over the dastardly short shorts, resting between the brunette's thighs. The whimper escalates into a moan as fingertips begin to massage circles through the light material.

"I like… Laundromats."

Quinn's eyes flutter closed, head tilting back as the brunette's head dips and the tip of a supple tongue dances over _that_spot on her neck.

"Explain," exhales Rachel as she moves her lips northwards, nipping gently at Quinn's neck before kissing her way up to the blonde's ear.

"I just really like the smell of clean laundry," Quinn says, cocking her head to the side to allow her girlfriend better access to another sensitive patch of skin, just below the blonde's left ear. She shivers as Rachel's teeth nip her before being replaced by a soothing tongue and lips. "Though I'm not sure about this Rachem stuff…"

"We'll take our own next time," Rachel notes before sucking Quinn's earlobe between her teeth. The blonde exhales sharply, her hand stilling on Rachel's thigh and as soon as the brunette detaches, she turns to look the other woman in the eye. "Yes?" Rachel enquires, a delicious smirk working its way across her features. She shifts again, watching the blonde bite down on her lip as Quinn's thigh muscles tighten beneath her.

"God," Quinn whispers around a shaky breath as the shorter woman places her hand on top of the blonde's, guiding it a little higher pressing it hard against her centre. Rachel's hips roll forward as she moans softly in Quinn's ear. "Are you trying to kill me, babe?"

"Yes," Rachel murmurs, tracing the shell of Quinn's ear with the tip of her tongue.

"Shit," Quinn exclaims, pushing Rachel away as the sound of a cane and shuffling footsteps approach. Rachel sticks out her tongue and slides off Quinn's lap as the elderly woman comes into view.

"More tea?" Mrs Leonard holds up the jug and Rachel nods earnestly, hopping up to grab their empty glasses.

"It's delicious," she declares. "Right, sweetheart?"

She shoots Quinn a look over her shoulder.

"Delicious," Quinn intones, eyes straying from Rachel's eyes to the shorts again. Rachel begins to chatter to the owner of the Laundromat while Quinn's imagination starts to run away from her. She imagines pushing Rachel up against the drier, hips pinning the shorter woman against the cool metal.

Her fingers twitch and curl around the edge of the cushion she's sitting on as the ache between her legs intensifies. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, waiting for Rachel to return. Rachel with ice cream. Rachel licking an ice cream cone, tongue swirling…

Quinn shifts uncomfortably and risks a glance at Rachel. The brunette is laughing along with the other woman, tossing her head back at a joke Quinn hasn't been paying attention to.

Exasperated, Quinn reaches for a magazine sitting on the table at the end of the couch. She flicks through the pages, barely registering a single word until she hears the click of the cane on the linoleum floor. Rachel bounces back to the couch, jumping straight into the blonde's lap, knees astride the taller woman's thighs.

"She's gone to watch her 'stories'," Rachel says, smiling devilishly as her hands run up into Quinn's hair, pulling the blonde closer. "Where were we?"

Quinn tosses the magazine towards the end of the couch, hardly noticing that it slides off the cushion to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"You were driving me crazy," Quinn murmurs before pushing her lips against Rachel's. The brunette's response turns into a muffled moan, her fingers curl in the Quinn's hair as hands slide up the backs of her thighs, slipping beneath the thin fabric of her shorts.

"Up."

Rachel stares down at Quinn, breathless from the kiss. She quirks her eyebrow and then squeaks as Quinn lifts her up and pushes her back towards the nearest drier.

"Qui-?" the word dies in Rachel's mouth as the taller woman thrusts her hips forwards, pinning the brunette against the machine. A garbled noise escapes from the brunette's lips and Quinn smirks.

"Attractive," the blonde says, licking her lips as she grinds her hips against the brunette's. She leans in close to Rachel's ear, feeling the shorter woman shiver as she exhales softly. "Shorts off."

Rachel immediately shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest. Quinn hooks her fingers into the waistband of the shorts and begins to drag them down over the brunette's thighs.

"If we get caught…" Rachel whispers shakily as Quinn moves in once more. She groans as her bare skin meets the cold metal of the drier. "Fuck."

"We'd better be quick then," Quinn replies, lips crashing against the brunette's again until Rachel's head lolls backwards at the sensation of the blonde's hand pushing her legs apart.

Still pressed to the drier, Rachel gasps when quick, skilful fingers slide deep inside her. Determined not to draw any attention from the elderly lady in the back room of the Laundromat, she bites down on her bottom lip, leaning her forehead against Quinn's shoulder. She nods when the blonde asks if she's okay and looks up, eyes slightly glazed as Quinn's hand picks up speed, thrusting hard and quick.

"More," she grinds out from behind gritted teeth, knowing that if she opens her mouth, she won't be able to control what comes out of it. Her hips rock outwards against the blonde's hand as Quinn adds a third finger.

Quinn marvels at the look on her girlfriend's face, somewhere between agony and ecstasy, eyes closed and lips red, sore from being bitten down on. Their bodies fall into a rhythm, well-practised, but never quite the same. Hips roll together, fingers curling, lips meeting in kisses that make the brunette's body curl into the blonde's. She feels Rachel's hand push down on top of hers, forcing her deeper. Muscles start to tighten around her fingers and Quinn murmurs in the brunette's ear, telling her how good she feels, how much she wants to watch her come.

Rachel's eyes lock onto Quinn's as the blonde's other hand slides between their bodies, tips of her fingers brushing over the brunette's clit.

"Harder."

The noise of the clunking washing machines nearly drowns out the word and as much as Quinn wants to draw this out, to watch as Rachel's body bends and curls into her touches, to hear the brunette moan and scream her name as she comes, their time could run out at any moment. Her fingers rub tight circles across the brunette's clit as her other hand thrusts erratically.

Rachel's forehead presses into the taller woman's shoulder again as she begins to shake apart around Quinn's hands. Losing all sense of rhythm, her hips grind forward, muscles clenching and then, there's release. She shudders against the blonde, legs giving way, moans muffled against Quinn's shirt, teeth scraping through the soft material.

Right on cue, the sound of the cane precedes the shuffling footsteps and Quinn dives to the floor, wrenching the brunette's shorts up over her knees and thighs. She presses a soft kiss to the inside of her girlfriend's thigh before smirking up at her and running her tongue over her lips.

Rachel pushes Quinn back towards the grey couch and turns to face the woman who is yet again brandishing a fresh jug of tea. More cups are poured and Quinn reaches for the crumpled magazine while her girlfriend and the older lady discuss the weather and the state of the economy and Broadway.

Quinn is starting to doze off when Rachel announces that their clothes are done and then leaps off the couch when the brunette shrieks upon opening one of the doors.

"QUINN!"

"What?" Quinn stumbles in her haste to get to the washing machine and smacks her head on the door of one of the other machines. She bites back a curse and presses her hand to her face, squinting at her girlfriend through her watering eyes. Her girlfriend looks surprisingly unsympathetic. "Um. Ow."

"Karma is swift in its execution," Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest after she's gestured to the contents of the washing machine. Hand still pressed to her throbbing forehead, Quinn peers around the door.

"Oh," she says before a stray giggle escapes from her mouth.

"This isn't funny," Rachel says, reaching forward to tug a few garments from the machine. She holds them up in front of Quinn's face. "Everything is pink."

"Yes," Quinn nods sagely, rubbing her hand across the rapidly forming bruise. "You like pink," she offers, unhelpfully. She reaches into the machine and pulls out the only darker coloured piece of clothing from the machine. "Your favourite bra is still red."

Rachel narrows her eyes, setting her lips in a thin line.

"…How about that ice cream?"

It takes five seconds of pouting and puppy dog eyes to break the brunette. Rachel tuts and rolls her eyes.

"You can't bribe me with ice cream every time…"

Quinn cuts her off with a brief kiss.

"I'll buy a new air conditioning unit."

Rachel considers this, tapping her finger against her lips.

"Sold."


End file.
